


Billy 007

by Psychgirl7



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, F/M, Language, Mentions of Past Torture and Trauma, Protective Billy Hargrove, Sexual Content, Slow Burn(ish), Soft Billy Hargrove, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27233167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychgirl7/pseuds/Psychgirl7
Summary: Number 007 (Billy) had broken out from the lab after overpowering the guards in charge of his transport. With superhuman strength, it was an easy enough feat to accomplish. In his escape, he is discovered by a young woman named Melanie, who takes him in. With ties to the lab that he does not yet know about, he and Melanie are in far more danger than either of them realize.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I really shouldn't do this (having two active stories going at the same time, this and "Lonesome Billy"), but I had this idea and just had to write it out. 
> 
> Billy is Seven (but he will eventually be called Billy in this story). Imagine him as sort of a cross between Edward Scissorhands, Tarzan, and Beast (from Beauty and the Beast.) Somewhat unsophisticated, naïve to the world, and learning the way Eleven did in the show.

Seven ran as fast as his thick legs could carry him. Sticks and leaves cracked and rustled beneath his bare feet as dirt and mud squished between his toes. The cool October air drifted up the blue hospital gown that he wore and chilled every inch of skin that was exposed beneath the thin fabric.

His breathing was rapid and shallow, stinging his lungs as he sucked in breath after breath to fuel his ability to continue running. He must have run at least three miles by now into the darkening woods. Sundown was fast approaching with just the last hints of the fizzling sun visible on the horizon. He chased the light, knowing bad things always happened in the dark.

That’s when Sir, the doctor in charge of his care and training, would come by with whatever form of torture was going to _toughen him up_ that day. He had to learn to sense his opponent rather than see him, rely on the subtle breezes and sounds of his movements rather than feel his touch. Strike first before he himself would be stricken.

The lab had been a prison, but it was the only home he had ever known. Confined to four bare, white tile walls and a squeaky cot that sunk beneath his hefty frame, too short to hold his height. A door with a reinforced glass window the size of a notebook allowed for observation at any time. A cover on the outside of the window masked the light in the hallway on days in which he was particularly disappointing, keeping him in complete darkness and isolation from the guards and doctors who passed by.

His sandy curls bounced against his neck with every stride taken. The only reason he was permitted to have such long hair instead of the standard buzz was because he broke the arms of the last four men who tried to cut it over the years. No one else wanted to take the chance, and Sir eventually conceded and said he would allow it as a reward for showcasing his skills. It was the only way he was truly able to rebel without consequence. 

Today he had really done it. Refused to kill the poor fellow that had been dragged in, kicking and screaming, by the collar of his white dress shirt. Dr. Zakura. A middle-aged man with a balding head and thick, coke-bottle glasses. Dr. Zakura had been the only man who ever showed him true kindness. Never raised a hand to him in anger. Snuck him snacks when he was to go without food. Gave him magazines to look at when he wasn’t allowed to have the TV. Seven didn’t need to know what he had done. He just needed to execute.

Seven wasn’t supposed to have feelings. Super-Soldiers were made to act, not think. Not feel. To do as they’re told without question or hesitation. Whether the objective is to kill another or sacrifice themselves for the greater good, they are to do it at the snap of a finger. Seven was flawed in this aspect.

He would dig his heels into the floor, cross his tree-trunk arms across his rock-hard chest, stand tall with a scowl until one of them— either he or Sir— broke. On the days that he won he would be punished. Water torture, burns, shock collar, food or sleep deprivation. The others would have been exterminated by now for their insolence. But not Seven.

He was the strongest of them all, in both body and spirit. Where others may have outshined in compliance and obedience to their masters, Seven excelled in speed, strength, and agility. He had the strength of twenty men. He could throw a dump truck with the same ease one could throw a pebble. No sweat broken, no strain evident. When it came to Super-Soldiers, he was the ideal physical specimen. The cream of the crop. The one whom all others were compared and strived to replicate, save for the damn rebellious attitude.

He could outrun the others, a skill that particularly came in handy when he and several of his fellow soldiers were released within the grounds with orders to kill until they were the only one left standing. Seven knew this was execution practice as much as it was Sir’s disposal of weaker subjects. Two birds, one stone. It gave him no pleasure or feeling of accomplishment to have ended their lives, but it was kill or be killed. Despite all the pain and constraints that living at the lab produced, he had hopes of one day escaping.

There was a world out there of which he knew nothing. Large bodies of water with rolling waves, filled with colorful fish and majestic coral; places that served chocolates and candies— things he was not permitted to indulge; machines that could travel faster than him that would allow him to see everything the world had to offer. And _women._ Beautiful creatures with long, flowing hair, breasts larger and more beautiful than his, pouty lips and skin that looked at soft as a cloud.

Never had he seen a real woman in the flesh before. Aside from commercials on the television that he was permitted to watch once in a blue moon— and the naked magazines that Dr. Zakura would sometimes show him— they were merely just a dream. There were no female doctors at the lab. At least, none that Seven had ever seen.

‘ _Women complicate things,’_ Sir had said when he asked about it. ‘ _They’ll only get in your way and bring you down, and you cannot be brought down. Can you?’_ He didn’t understand what that meant. Women were very pleasing to the eye. He couldn’t imagine how something so beautiful could be so dangerous.

The wobbling sound of a helicopter far off in the sky pricked up his ears with heightened alarm. He didn’t know where it was coming from, but he knew that Sir would pull out all the stops to find him. By land, by sea, by sky. Wherever he went, he knew that he would be hunted. A runaway Super-Soldier was just as good as a dead one.

His heartrate quickened, drumming ferociously in his chest and thundering in his ears along with the impending _womp womp womp_ of the helicopter wings propelling nearer. Twigs slapped against his arms, leaving little cuts and scrapes on the bronze skin, dyed by the sun from his outdoor practices. Tiny stones and acorns embedded the undersides of his feet, but that discomfort was minor compared to what would likely be done to him if her were captured and brought back to the lab.

Looking up through the thinning leaves on the trees, he searched the sky for the machine that was after him as he continued to run. With his eyes upward, he ran into something solid, causing both he and what he hit to topple over and roll a few feet. The surprised grunt he heard from beneath him did not come from his mouth.

He was in a small clearing. A dirt and gravel path that stretched as far as the eye could see in between two tree lines with deep woods on either side. Taking in his surroundings, Seven looked down at the individual beneath him who coughed and groaned as she opened her eyes and held the side of her head.

Seven’s eyes widened in amazement and curiosity at the sight before him. Bright blue eyes riddled with fear and confusion stared back at him. Thick, long lashes fluttered as she attempted to steady the fuzzy vision that the knock to her head had created. Her defined cheekbones and plump, pale lips were captivating— as beautiful, maybe more, than he had seen on TV and in pictures. Small pieces of crumpled leaves stuck to her hair, which was pulled back into a high ponytail.

He looked down at her chest, enthralled with the size of her breasts and how much rounder and bouncier they were compared to his own chest. So much of her pale skin was visible with just a black sports bra covering her chest. It looked just as soft and inviting as any of the other women he had stared at for hours on end.

“Woman,” Seven breathily uttered with admiration and disbelief, looking back up at her face in a state of awe.

The woman beneath him twisted her face in a show of discomfort from his weight on top of her and the cold ground at her back. “What?” she narrowed her eyes and grumbled, still trying to acclimate herself to what happened.

Not knowing how else to voice his discovery, he placed his hand on one of her breasts and nodded down at it. “Woman,” he repeated, explaining to her what she was.

Seven hadn’t been spoken to much, and he was not permitted to do a lot of taking, himself. He was trained to be concise and to the point with his speech, offering one- or two-word answers, most of which consisted of saying, _‘Yes, sir,’_ or, _‘No, sir.’_ Anything further was considered an argument. He didn’t need to speak. All he needed to do was follow orders.

The young woman’s eyes widened at the contact. With a gasp, she slapped his face and shouted, “Hey! Get your paws off me!”

The volume of her voice shocked him. The slap hardly registered, far too weak for anything he had ever experienced previously. Perhaps Sir had been right. Maybe women really _are_ dangerous. He didn’t need to understand her words fully to know that the sound of her voice and the action she had taken with him expressed her displeasure. He removed his hand from her breast and held himself above her, hands on either side of her body.

Leaves quivered above them as the sound of the helicopter loomed. A spotlight could be seen in the distance, shining down into the area from which he had just came. Fast and fearful, Seven rolled off the woman and grabbed her wrist, dragging her along with him off the trail and further into the woods against a tree for cover.

“Hey! Let go of me! Help!” she screamed while simultaneously trying to pull away.

Seven slumped down onto the ground with his back against a thick trunk. He pulled the woman’s back against his chest and wrapped his legs over hers to hold them down while his arm held her firmly around her waist. A calloused hand quickly covered her mouth to contain her shouts. She wiggled against him in a feeble attempt to shimmy herself lose from his grip, but it was no use.

“Shhh,” he softly prompted her, hot breath blowing against her neck. He clenched his jaw and waited with bated breath for the helicopter to fly over them and continue on its way.

The woman stilled and tilted her head back to look up at the sky. She had never been so close to a helicopter to be able to feel the gust of wind from its fierce propellers. The spotlight scouting the area missed them by a good thirty feet or so. It never hovered or paused but continued on its way.

After several seconds had passed and the sound of the helicopter had dissipated, Seven removed his hand from the woman’s mouth and unhooked his legs from her own. She quickly pushed herself away from him and scrambled to stand up. Several paces away she turned around to look at the man who had held her captive. When he stood up and brushed his hands free from the dirt, she was able to get a better view.

He was a devilishly handsome thing who appeared to be around twenty. Taller than her by a head with curls that reminded her of paintings of angels. The blue hospital gown didn’t seem large enough for him. It hung several inches above his knees. His hairy, muscular legs were covered in dirt, and his feet were bare and filthy. His eyes appeared scared. Just as scared as hers. Despite the hard muscles that she had felt with her own body and seen with her own eyes, there was a softness about his features. A kindness, a gentleness that she saw— an innocence like that of a child.

They stared at each other for several seconds with nothing but their breaths breaking the silence. She caught his eyes drop to her bare abdomen. Nervous about being in the darkening woods alone with a strange man, she quickly brought her arms in front of herself to try and hide her exposed skin. _What an evening to go for a jog._

“What the hell was that about?” she asked with an edge of sternness to show that she was not someone to be messed with.

Seven licked his lips and glanced up at the sky to the path which the helicopter had flown. Looking back at the woman, he pointed in that direction and deeply stated, “Bad men.”

His voice sent a shiver down her spine. It was deep, gruff, and sexy. Just as masculine as the rest of him. She should not feel this turned on. Not in this situation. She had no idea who he was or what he was capable of doing. He could be the Ted Bundy of Hawkins for all she knew. Handsome, mysterious, and violent.

Not understanding what he meant by that, she looked at the hospital gown he was wearing and nodded her head at it. “Did you run away from the hospital or something?”

Seven shook his head and reiterated, “Bad men.” He pointed to the sky and then pointed back to the direction from which he had been running.

Confused, she repeated, “Bad men.”

The handsome man nodded at her. He took a step forward to get closer, but she took a step back to keep the distance. Just because she was attracted to him didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of him.

“No,” he paused and put his hands up to show he was free from weapons and had no ill intentions. “No hurt,” he dropped his shoulders and tried to make himself appear smaller, less daunting.

He again took a step forward, but this time the woman kept still. He observed her and moved cautiously and slowly. As he came closer, she could see the small injuries on his skin. Traces of blood trickled down his arms from cuts and scrapes.

“You’re hurt,” she observed, gazing back up at his sapphire eyes.

He didn’t say anything or offer any indication that he had heard her. He stopped approximately two feet in front of her and studied her face. Knowing that she had responded unfavorably when he last touched her, he opted to keep his hands to himself this time. He did, however, lean forward into her space and sniff at her neck.

The woman jerked backward and shot him an irritated expression, “What the… back off, pal.”

Seven stood up straight again and smirked at the pleasant image and scent in front of him. “Pretty,” he calmly stated as his eyes darted back and forth between her own.

The woman stared at him for a few seconds before a smile crept onto her face and she let out a nervous chuckle. “You’re kind of freaking me out, dude.”

At that, his eyebrows raised questioningly. The smirk on his lips faded and was replaced by a look of uncertainty. Any other man who had gotten in her face to sniff her and comment on her beauty would have been met with a punch to the face and a rape whistle. There was something about this man, though, that told her he didn’t mean anything bad by it. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

She felt guilty about the look on his face after her last sentence. He seemed to not fully understand. Trying to get some more information about the mysterious stranger in her presence, she cleared her throat to ask her next question.

“What’s your name?”

He continued to watch her face without response. She thought perhaps he didn’t understand the question. His English, after all, seemed to be kind of broken. Perhaps he was a foreigner that did not know much of her language.

Placing her hand on her chest to indicate herself, she slowly explained, “I’m Melanie.” His lips perked into a small smile, which she returned. “Melanie,” she repeated and patted her chest twice.

Slowly reaching forward, he placed his dirty hand atop of hers on her chest and echoed, “Melanie.” Rough fingers lightly tapped her hand twice, mimicking her motion.

She smiled and nodded her head, relieved that he understood. “Yes,” she confirmed with a bit of excitement. “Melanie,” she stated again. “What is _your_ name?” she asked, taking the hand he had placed on hers and making him touch his own chest with it.

Seven’s face glowed with contentment at feeling her gentle touch. Her smile was beautiful and friendly. Her eyes patient and caring. Trusting her, he outstretched his left arm, keeping the hand against his chest still because she was holding it and it felt nice.

Motioning down to his arm, Melanie’s eyes followed. There was a tattoo on the inside of his forearm: _007._ It was surrounded by fresh cuts and scrapes, but there were also fading scars of various shapes and sizes implanted on his skin.

“Double-oh-seven,” Melanie’s lips quirked amusingly. “Like James Bond?” Her eyes met his again to search for the answer. “James?” she asked, trying to decipher the code.

“Seven,” he corrected her with a friendly expression.

She looked back down at the tattoo. It was, indeed, a seven. She just didn’t think it had been so literal to be his name. It was odd. She had never heard of anyone named after a number.

“Seven,” her tone was flat with skepticism.

Ensuring that she understood, Seven tapped his fingers against his chest twice like what Melanie had done before, and restated, “Seven.”

Melanie smiled, pleased that they were figuring out how to communicate with each other, that he had picked up on what she was asking and that he was following her lead. He was obviously in need of help. Lost in the woods, injured, probably in need of medical attention if the hospital gown he was wearing was any indication.

“Do you need help, Seven?” Melanie asked with her hand still on top of his against his chest.

He was lost in the deep blue color of her eyes. The same color that he had seen in images of the sea on television.

Sounding somewhat distracted, he copied the word, “Help?”

She didn’t question the uncertain tone. Figured it perhaps sounded strange coming from his lips, maybe a word he was less familiar with. Her house was just at the end of this trail, maybe only a quarter of a mile left to go. She could get him inside, allow him to get cleaned up a bit, and then call the hospital to ask if they have a missing patient. At the very least, the police would know what to do and be able to better assist him. For now, she wanted to get them inside from the elements to warm up and clean up.

“Okay,” she agreed and dropped her hand from his. She nodded her head down the trail and started to walk away. “Come with me. We’ll get it figured out.”

Seven allowed her to take several steps ahead of him to see what she was doing. Every curve of her backside and legs was visible in the black spandex pants she was wearing. He felt a flutter in his chest and groin at the sight, not knowing why he found those parts of her so alluring.

She stopped and turned her head to see if he was behind her. “You comin’?” she asked, holding her hand out and beckoning him to follow.

Seven smiled and began to walk towards her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: memories of past torture, description of some minor injuries

Her father would _kill_ her if he knew she was bringing a strange man into her house while she was living alone in a rather isolated area. Woods surrounded a nice open yard about a quarter of an acre wide. A long gravel driveway connected to the road about a half mile away. The house was very private. It was one of the main reasons she and her ex-boyfriend had decided to rent it. It was quiet, serene, a big enough yard that if they one day decided to marry and have children would provide for a nice play area. _The cheating bastard._

Melanie turned the key in the lock and opened the wooden door, flipping on the light switch to illuminate the small living room as she stepped inside. Cautiously, Seven followed behind her with noiseless steps. He quietly took in his surroundings as she closed and locked the door and stepped into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

It had more furnishings than what he was accustomed to. More colors, too. The walls were a pale yellow, a color that seemed to keep the room bright even after the sun had gone down. There was a large, colorful rug with a mess of circular designs sitting in the center of the hardwood floor of the living room. Paintings and framed photographs adorned the walls. He smiled at seeing a television in the room; it was something he really looked forward to as a special treat at the lab.

A medium-sized fish tank against the far wall of the living room caught his eye. The green plants and shimmering light bounced off the fish inside. He walked over to it and bent at his knees to get a better look. The sweeping fins moved effortlessly through the water with grace and elegance.

Melanie approached him, and he quickly stood up and turned around before she was close enough to touch him. While she didn’t _seem_ dangerous, she _was_ a woman. Being in an unfamiliar environment, he had to be even more alert to the approaching sounds and vibrations of possible enemies.

“Those are paradise fish,” she gestured to the tank and held out the glass of water for him to take. “They were my boyfriend’s. Well, _ex-_ boyfriend’s,” she corrected herself. “Pretty, huh?” she looked at the orange and blue fish. Pointing to each one, she identified, “That’s Lucy, and that fat one back there is Desi.”

Seven accepted the glass of water and greedily gulped it down. Water drizzled from the corners of his mouth and travelled in a small stream down the length of his broad neck.

“Whoa, hey,” Melanie cautioned. “Take it easy. There’s more if you want it, but you don’t want to make yourself sick.”

She gently reached for the glass to make him lower it from his mouth. He watched her every movement but allowed her to tip the glass away from his mouth. A few drops of water dripped from his chin. He stared at her while he wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. Leftover dirt smudged from his hand to his chin. Melanie chuckled.

“Man, we have _got_ to get you cleaned up.” She took the glass from his hand and turned to walk back to the kitchen.

On the floor were bloody footprints, leading from the front door to where he stood in the living room. She followed their path and turned again to look down at his feet. They were filthy. Caked in dirt, nailbeds surrounded by black lines around the edges. A little bit of blood was visible at the sides of his feet.

“You’re bleeding,” Melanie gasped lightly. How painful it must have been to walk barefoot all that way, and no telling how long he had been walking or running before that. “Here, come sit down.”

She took his hand in hers and led him to the kitchen. He watched her every movement closely, sure to also look at the way her smaller hand fit in his. So dainty and delicate. Melanie pulled two chairs out from under the oblong dining table.

Patting the seat, she looked at him and requested, “Sit.” She followed that with sitting in her own chair and waiting patiently for him.

Never taking his eyes off her, he lowered himself onto the wooden chair. It creaked beneath his weight as he leaned his back against the slats. She pushed her chair backward so she would be able to reach his ankle and bring his foot to rest on her lap. He didn’t resist as she moved slowly, first bringing his right foot up to sit on her knee.

She cocked her head to get a good look at the underside of his foot. Beneath the dirt and mud, she could see little flaps of skin hanging from the soft flesh, darkened by gore and earth. The wounds would need to be cleaned thoroughly for her to better assess the damage, but she was no nurse. All she thought to do was wash his feet and wrap them in bandages, maybe with some Neosporin, until she could get him to the hospital or a doctor.

Melanie clenched her teeth together and grimaced at the injuries on his foot. Tenderly, she lowered his right foot and clasped his left ankle, bringing it up to her lap to be able to examine it, as well. It looked nearly identical. Dirty, bloody, flaps of skin hanging or missing, exposing the tender meat beneath his flesh.

“We should clean these,” she said while continuing to look at his foot. She was cautious not to touch anything, not wanting to hurt him more than he already was. “Does it hurt bad?” she glanced up at him.

Seven smoothly shook his head _no._ He had experienced worse. Far worse. This was nothing compared to the punishments and damages inflicted on his body over the years.

“Okay,” she swallowed, “good.” She placed his foot back on the floor and stood from her chair. “Let me show you to the bathroom. You can shower; and be sure to clean your feet real good so we can bandage them.”

Seven followed closely behind her down the hall to the bathroom where she turned on the light and walked in. She grabbed a towel and washcloth from the open cubby where all her toiletry items were neatly organized. He looked around at the baby blue walls and fuzzy cover on top of the toilet lid.

It was much different from the kind of bathroom he was used to seeing. The toilet here was white and porcelain, not a shiny gray metal similar to those in prisons. Metal rings scratched against the shower rod as she opened the frilly blue and white curtain to point out all the items he could use. The shower had privacy; it wasn’t just an open square room with a drain in the middle.

“Shampoo and conditioner are right there,” she pointed at the shelf. “Soap there. Sorry, I don’t have a razor for you to use, but it doesn’t look like you need one right now.”

A shower would feel so good right now. Relaxing to his muscles and comforting to his skin. As she spoke with her back to him, Seven reached behind his back and tugged at the white ties at his waist and back of his neck. He stripped out of the soiled gown and let it drop in a heap at his feet. Melanie placed the folded towel and washcloth on top of the toilet lid.

“I think Charlie left a few clothing items here when he left. I’ll go see what I have. Although, you’re bigger than him so it may not be the right si— oh my God!” she turned around and dropped her jaw at the naked body in front of her.

She covered her eyes and turned her head away, stammering to say something but unable to form the words. He stood so nonchalantly, like being naked in front of a stranger was perfectly normal. While she knew it was inappropriate to gawk and didn’t want to send any mixed signals, she couldn’t help but lower her hand and peek at him again.

He was absolutely stunning. Tall, lean, brawny. Six pack abs and bulging muscles in his thighs and arms. The contrasting colors of his skin showed where his gown had kept him covered and shielded from dirt and where his exposed parts had been. He made no effort to cover himself, standing with feet shoulder width apart and hands at his side as if waiting for orders.

His torso was scarred significantly. Old burn marks from what looked to be cigars dotted his chest and upper arms. Short scars, longer scars, raised scars, flat scars. His torso looked like an Etch a Sketch.

Melanie’s eyes trailed down his torso to his manhood. A nest of curly brown hair wildly bordered his flaccid penis. _God, even soft it looks big._ She would have to recite fifteen Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s to be forgiven for the carnal thoughts running through her head.

Noticing that she had been staring for too long, she quickly jerked her head up and averted her eyes, holding out her hand in front of her to block the view of his lower region. She licked her lips and didn’t know what to say. He stood waiting patiently, no smirk or dirty look or shame evident on his chiseled face.

“That’s um… You… You’re… You, uh,” Melanie stuttered, lowering her hand just enough to be able to look at his penis again.

Seven looked down at himself, seeing what she was looking at. He glanced back up at her and raised his eyebrows. “Penis,” he blatantly acknowledged.

Melanie froze and parted her lips again. _Oh God, even him saying it is sexy._ Her cheeks flushed at hearing him say the word, at him recognizing where her eyes were focused. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to burn the image from them.

“Uh, yeah, yes,” she nodded and opened her eyes again, shuddering with embarrassment at this interaction. “That’s your penis, all right.”

She swallowed hard when he offered her a soft, closed-mouth smile. Her eyes were drawn back to the scars that coated his skin. She wondered what kind of life this man must have lived, what kind of things he experienced to be so marked up. She blinked a few times, feeling tears line her lower lids, saddened by the thoughts of what had happened to him.

Touching her own chest and dragging her hand to her shoulder, she motioned to his chest and shoulders and asked, “What happened?”

Seven looked down at himself, touching the various scars on his skin. His brows creased and jaw twitched at the memories of his punishments and trainings. How he would be burned until he finally learned to stop screaming.

Melanie’s heart thumped harshly against her chest. She feared that perhaps she had overstepped. It was none of her business to ask what had happened to him. After all, most of those scars looked to be old. She winced at the thought that she was opening old wounds for him.

He raised his head to meet her eyes again. His expression softened when he saw the concerned appearance on her face. His fingers felt the rough patches of skin, moving from scar to scar until he finally dropped his hand to his side again.

“Bad men,” Seven disclosed in a calm manner.

Melanie wondered who all these bad men were. Clearly, Seven was involved with something big. Helicopters don’t get sent out to search the woods for someone who is of little importance. She wondered what Seven knew, or what he did. It was possible that _Seven_ was the bad man, but after Melanie considered his name, his tattoo, and all the marks on him, she thought that it probably wasn’t very likely.

“I’m sorry,” she weakly offered her condolences because she had nothing else to give. “Um,” she looked down at her watch. Just about seven o’clock. “It’s late now, but if you want, I can take you to the hospital after you shower. I think you probably need a doctor.”

Seven’s ears noticeably perked at the word _doctor._ He stood tall, muscles flexing, as he loudly and firmly stated, “No! No doctors.”

The sudden thunderous roar of his voice took her aback and she jumped in surprise. She didn’t think it was possible for him to look any bigger than he already did, but with his back and neck stretched tall and his hands balled into fists, he looked like a force not to be reckoned with.

He regretted the posture and tone used with her when he saw her reaction. He released the tension in his muscles and shook his head, eyes beckoning her to heed his request.

“No doctors,” Seven repeated with a less abrasive tone this time. “Bad men.”

“The police, then—”

“Bad… men,” he enunciated each word for her to understand.

Melanie swallowed and tried to lighten the moment. “Is _everyone_ bad?”

It was only half meant as a joke. She truly wondered if there was anyone that this man would trust. Who could she call to help him? If not the hospital, doctors, or the police, who else was left? Someone was looking for him. She wondered if he had any family. How would she even begin to find that out when the only words he seemed to know were _no, bad,_ and _men_?

Seven grinned. Smile lines appeared on his face and in the corners of his eyes. “No,” he shook his head. “Melanie,” he bobbed his head at her and smiled wider. “Melanie good. Melanie _very_ good.”

She couldn’t help but grin back at that. _Is he flirting?_ Regardless, she at least was getting _somewhere_ with this guy. They had only been in each other’s presence for less than an hour, but she seemed to have earned some of his trust. It was a start. Feeling a hint of blush creep up her neck and to her cheeks, she looked down to break the eye contact. She accidentally landed her eyes on his penis again.

Sharply inhaling, she looked back up at his face and said, “Okay, Romeo. You’re still very naked, so I’m going to leave you to it,” she walked by him and grabbed the doorknob behind her. “I’ll see what clothes I can find for you,” she gave him one last glance before closing the door.

*****

While Seven had been in the shower, Melanie made her way through the kitchen and living room, mopping the dried bloody footprints that he had tracked in. As she returned the mop and bucket to the hall closet, the bathroom door opened. A wall of steam came flooding out before Seven appeared.

Melanie felt her heart drop into her stomach at the sight of him. His curly hair was damp and hanging slightly longer, brushing against his tanned shoulders and framing his face like a picture. His body had a sheen to it where it was obvious that he had not fully dried himself before dressing.

Charlie’s abandoned clothes were definitely a few sizes too small on Seven. The white tank top hugged his body like a second skin. Hard nipples peaked against the cotton fabric, obnoxiously accentuating every curve of his body. The black sweatpants, which had already seen better days, sat below his hips, too short on him to come all the way up to his waist and barely meeting his ankle. She found herself drooling over the dips and lines of his hips.

Seven smiled as he approached her. She smiled back, feeling like a teenager. There was no denying some sort of connection between them. They were both good looking people.

“Good?” He looked down at himself and ran his fingers down the front of his shirt. He stopped in front of her and lifted his head to watch for her response.

Melanie held his gaze. “Good,” she nodded. “ _Really_ good.” Realizing their eye contact lasted a little too long for people who were not lovers, she sighed, “Um. Why don’t you sit down at the table again,” she turned and pointed to the chair, “and I’ll get some bandages.”

Seven nodded his head, his cheeks rosy from the heat of the shower— and perhaps the heat that seemed to be generating between the two of them— and walked past her to sit in the wooden chair. His arm rested along the edge of the table as he tapped his fingers lightly. Melanie was out of sight for a minute. She washed her hands thoroughly at the bathroom sink and returned with a blue first-aid kit in a large metal tin.

He watched her remove items from the kit and place them on the table. A small pair of scissors, some gauze, a tube of antibiotic ointment. These were all things which were familiar to him. 

Once she had everything in front of her that she needed, she turned to him and asked, “Ready?”

Seven nodded in confirmation and leaned back in the chair, lifting his right foot for her without waiting for the prompt. She cocked her head and examined his foot. It looked red and irritated, but he had done a remarkable job of cleaning it. She imagined it must have been agonizing to have to scrub so much, especially since it looked like he removed the pieces of skin that had been hanging or badly damaged.

As she applied blobs of antibiotic ointment to his wounds, she spoke out loud to let him know, “We’ll have to get you some better fitting clothes.” Peaking up at him, she smirked and said, “Something that will probably be more comfortable for you.” She wrapped his foot in gauze and tucked the end of the fabric under the last layer to keep it in place. “Do you have any family?” she glanced at his face to read the expression. 

The only family he had ever known was Sir. He supposed he was like a father, of sorts. He never called him _father._ He didn’t know his mother. He just knew the people in that place. The doctors, the guards, the scientists. Dr. Zakura was the one person who had treated him with benevolence, but he was likely already dead and cold.

“No,” his voice sounded disheartened. “No family.”

She watched him for a moment before gently placing his bandaged foot on the ground. He immediately replaced it with his other foot to get the same care and attention. She followed the same process for this foot, too.

“Where did you come from?” Melanie asked, hoping that he would be able to provide some shred of useful information for her to put the pieces together.

Seven watched her fingers delicately apply ointment to his wounds. Her movements were so careful to not inflict additional pain. It was a kindness of which he was not accustomed. It didn’t hurt, anyway; but, he appreciated the compassion. He wondered if she knew about the things he had done in that place, if she would be just as charitable and sympathetic.

“A bad place,” his voice dropped an octave as he shook his head at the memory of it.

 _Bad men. Bad place. No family. No doctors. No police._ Melanie wondered if she was even qualified to take care of this guy. He looked at his wrapped foot, still resting on her lap, and wiggled his toes.

Pointing at his foot with a lopsided grin, he praised her handy work. “Good.”

Melanie huffed a soft chuckle and began returning the supplies to the tin. Seven reluctantly lowered his foot from her leg and placed it flat on the cool, hardwood floor. He watched her with interest, taking note of the way she tilted her head, the curve of her lips as they broadened into a smile, how her chest rose and fell with each breath.

Closing the tin, she slapped her hands against her thighs and looked at Seven again. “Are you hungry?”

_Knock knock knock knock knock!_

Seven and Melanie sprang from their chairs at the same time and looked at the front door. Seven had stretched his arm behind his body, protectively shielding Melanie and silently advising her to stay back. They stood as still as statues, quiet and guarded, listening for any noise from the other side of the door. Several excruciating seconds passed by, allowing the anxiety to seep into Melanie’s bones.

_Knock knock knock knock knock!_

Her body jerked at the loud disruption. Seven turned his head quickly to look at Melanie. Her breathing was audible. The fear of getting caught and who was at the door elicited goosebumps all over her flesh.

She shook her head and whispered to him, “I’m not expecting anyone.”


End file.
